Page 31 of Solving Sophronia

Though she didn’t look up, she could feel Detective Graham studying her. “Yes,” he said at last, and she released her breath. “And we must ask ourselves, what would a young couple with only a short time together wish for?”

“Somewhere to be together,” Sophie said. “Privacy.”Curse this blush.If the conversation continued on this course, the heat in her cheeks would never have a chance to disperse. She peeked up at him.

“Exactly,” he said. A small smirk was the only indication that he’d noticed her discomfort. “They’d find a place to be alone. Somewhere close so George’s absence wouldn’t be noticed.”

“But where—” Sophie began.

But she was interrupted when two constables entered through the main door. Seeing Detective Graham, the men hurried over, removing their bucket hats as they walked.

“Sir.” The shorter of the two spoke. “We found something.”

“Very well. Lead on, Constable.” Detective Graham snatched his hat from the side table and motioned for Sophie to precede him.

As they followed the constables outside, Sophie was glad for the interruption. Their interaction had become strained, and her insecurities were the cause. Of course inviting the detective to a ball was improper. While she’d merely intended for the suggestion to be a means of continuing the investigation, he’d not understood it that way and clearly had not wished to hurt her feelings by declining the invitation. She should have predicted he would perceive it as a flirtation. And consider it an unwelcome one from a young woman with a plain face and a waist that no corset could restrain. Her chest burned in shame. How pathetic she must look to him.

The constables led them down the steps and around to the side of the building, along a narrow lane used for deliveries and maintenance. Other lanes branched off at intervals, leading to nearby businesses. The stables and the field for carriage parking were on the other side of the building, and manicured walking gardens in the rear, were accessible from a patio behind the ballroom. The group passed the kitchen door and a hatchway with a lock that most likely led to a root cellar. Barrels, crates, and rubbish bins were arranged tidily against the outer wall, save for one crate that appeared to have been dragged beneath a window.

“Look there, sir.” The taller of the constables pointed. “On the sill.”

Detective Graham stepped up onto the crate and studied the windowsill, then cupped his hands against the glass to look through. “Good eyes, men.” He stepped down and motioned for Sophie to step up.

She took his offered hand, keeping her gaze from meeting his, held on to her skirts, and climbed up onto the crate. Standing on tiptoe, she could see the white paint of the sill was marked with a rust-colored smear a bit wider than her hand. The sight turned her stomach, and the reaction frustrated her. Sophie stepped quickly back down, pressing her hand to the side of the building and landing rather awkwardly—she hadn’t wanted to reach for the detective’s hand again. “Is it blood?”

“Looks like it,” the detective said. “Do you know to which room this window belongs?”

Sophie shook her head, glancing back up at the blemish and calculating which rooms were on this side of the building. “It appears to be on the far side of the ballroom, opposite the dining hall.” They hadn’t even looked in that area. “If I remember correctly, there is a cardroom and a small parlor.”

The detective pushed aside the crate and crouched down, studying the ground beneath the window and speaking with the constables.

Sophie crossed the lane to where she could get the best view of the side of the assembly hall. She sketched the window and the blood smear until Detective Graham joined her.

Together they returned to the front of the building, ascended the stairs once again, and reentered, this time crossing to the doors on the other side of the entry hall. It took only a moment to find the room they were looking for.

Detective Graham tossed his hat onto a table. He pushed aside the curtains that hung at the far wall of the small parlor, revealing that the smear they’d seen on the outside of the windowsill was also on the inside. He checked the window latch and opened the window. Nodding to the constables below, he turned, glanced around the parlor, and opened a closet.

Sophie still stood near the window. Outside, in the lane, the constables searched through rubbish bins. Sophie stared at the smear. Seeing Jane Duffin’s body last evening had been shocking, but there had been no blood. Aside from her scratched shoes and disheveled hair, there had been no immediate sign of violence. She’d appeared peaceful, eyes closed as if she were sleeping. Sophie had been so determined to find a story and to prove that she was up to the task of investigating that she’d hardly considered exactly what she was seeing. Butthis... this was different.

“Miss Bremerton, look here.”

Detective Graham’s voice was muffled, coming from inside the closet. Sophie opened the door wide, finding it to be a small storage space. A broom, a bucket, two chairs, and a feather duster were the only things inside, aside from one detective who was crouched down, studying the wooden floor. He ran a finger over a crack between the floorboards, then looked at it closely. He leaned until his face was mere centimeters from the floor and sniffed.

He sat back on his heels and glanced up at Sophie. “Might I trouble you for a piece of drawing paper?”

“Of course.” Sophie knelt down beside him. She tore a page from her notebook and handed it to him.

Detective Graham folded the paper, then slid it down, deep between two floor boards. When he brought it out, a brown stripe ran along the edge.

“More blood,” Sophie whispered.

He nodded, his mouth pulling into a grim line.

Sophie took the paper, holding it up to see it in the light. Her hand shook the smallest bit. “Is there a way to determine whose blood it is?”

“I’m afraid not. However, Dr. Peabody will be able to tell if it is from a human.”

Sophie gave back the paper and rose to her feet. She checked her skirts, making certain she hadn’t knelt in blood, and sat on a settee as her thoughts spun. “You think George Lewis was killed here? It’s impossible, isn’t it?” The dinner was right across the hall. “Nick Sloan couldn’t have come in here unseen.” Someone would have certainly noticed a murder merely feet away from the party. The thought chilled her. She opened her notebook and began a sketch of the parlor and closet. Concentrating on the drawing kept her from feeling ill.

“Peppermint?” Detective Graham offered her a sweet, and she happily took it, hoping it would settle her stomach.

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